Crazy Crafty: A Living Vintage Valentine

I was the kid who pressed too hard when he borrowed your markers.

It wasn't just your markers, however; when scribbling away with pen in a notebook, one could easily flip ahead at least ten pages and see a clear imprint of what I had previously written.  Oddly enough, I had an unreasonable affinity for written exams but would break an undue amount of pencils in the process, suffering from hand cramps hours after.  I've even endured severe chastisement (and costly remediation) from the dentist for brushing too hard.

Pressing too hard has been a recurring theme in my crafting life as well.  As evidenced by my Statue of Liberty Lime Jell-O, Mama's Macaroni Magic Necklace, and Rootin' Tootin' Cowboy Twine Holder,  I am quite capable of pressing a craft too hard in nearly every way - technically, thematically, and financially.  The inspiration of this year's Valentine's Day craft came from a source that often presses too hard in my favorite area of wordplay - the humble pun.

Vintage valentine cards are universally adored for their charming 

illustrations but the highlight for me is always the written sentiments.

Looking to transcend the two-dimensionality of the printed card, I envisioned a living Valentine that combined the old-timey whimsy of the illustrations with the hokiness of the punny inscription.  Gathering my supplies - and my wits - I struggled to find an original concept.

Supplies included heart-shaped safety pins, washi tape, googly eyes, pipe cleaner, and the omnipresent rick rack.

I finally came up with an idea that reflected my penchant for dad jokes, poorly-executed crafts, and killing weak plant life.  A discount cactus became the perfect foil for my Valentine's Day dream.

"You're Lookin' SHARP, Valentine!

SEW I won't stop NEEDLING you
until you put the "US" in CACTUS!"

Three puns in one sentence, that's a wacky tacky world record!
It wasn't my first instinct to use "cactus," but "succulent" lent itself to some rather unsavory word play.

Like more CUSHION for the PUSHIN'...

I could've sworn that I had at least 1,700 of those tomato pin cushions.
When I could find nary a one, I was forced to make my own
using polka dot remnants and some baker's twine.

I'll STRING ALONG with you!

Okay, baker's twine may have become something of a crafting cliche but on a
vintage wooden spool, it looks way better than plain, old, mercerized cotton.

"I'll String Along With You" - Doris Day in My Dream is Yours (1949)
It was either this or "My PUNNY Valentine."

HAPPY VALENTINE'S DAY!!!

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Kitsch-en Kounter: The Love Shack!

One word that I make a conscious effort to use as infrequently as possible is "obsessed."  Hosting exchange students in our house quite regularly, most of them Japanese, I learned how bizarre it was to them when we we would so freely express our love - of bagels, of TV shows, of shoes, of songs, of weather, of hair products, of sunglasses, of almost anything except one another.  It is my understanding that the word for love in Japanese is reserved exclusively for only its most romantic definition; it therefore must have seemed particularly odd when I would jubilantly proclaim, "I LOVE hamburgers!"  Some romances never die.  

These days, it isn't enough to like something.  It isn't even enough to love something.  To prove the fervor of our 21st-Century commitment to trends, movements, and inanimate objects, we must say that we're OBSESSED!!!  Well, occasionally, I fall victim to the vernacular and find myself obsessed with something, in this case, Betty Crocker's New Boys and Girls Cook Book.

Betty Crocker's New Boys and Girls Cookbook

Originally published in 1957 and printed many times since, Betty Crocker's Boys and Girls Cookbook was among the first to acknowledge the interest of a burgeoning youth population to participate in the kitchen.  The edition that I grew up with, the new edition, was published in 1965 with edits, updates, and a new crop of "home-testers."  When my grandmother would pull this book from the uppermost kitchen cabinet, we knew that we were in for a self-styled treat - mostly because she was probably so sick of looking after four rambunctious kids that she knew the only way to take a break was to sacrifice her freshly Pine-Sol'ed linoleum and unleash us on her immaculate kitchen of lime-green formica.

For what seemed like hours, my brothers and sister and I would pore over the images of party-cut sandwiches, Hawaiian Luau Loaf, clown-faced hamburgers, and - my favorite - the soda fountain drinks served in all manner of old-timey glassware.  We spent so much time deciding what to make that I honestly can't recall if we ever actually made anything (crafty Grandma).  Year after year, I have returned to this book for inspiration, for nostalgia, and for a gateway to my grandparents.  The book makes frequent cameos in conversations with my siblings, mostly as we wax nostalgic and wonder who the keeper of the book is (I guess I'm letting the cat out of the bag).  At this point in its fifty-year history, the book's pages are spattered, dog-eared, and torn.  The back cover is missing and the rusty spiral binding could more accurately be described as barbed wire.  Well worn and well loved, it is a physical manifestation of the kitschy culinary obsessions that blossomed in Mr. Tiny's earliest years.  Way beyond both the limits of our food-styling abilities and the limits of Grandma's patience, one particular recipe in the book very tragically went ever unmade.  Having dreamt of the Enchanted Castle Cake since childhood is proof that an unmade recipe can become the fodder for a lifelong obsession.

Enchanted Castle Cake

"My father took a picture of me with my cake."
Oh, Joan, it was probably because he wanted to capture that lovely
asymmetrical haircut you received at the Braille Beauty College.

With its red/white/pink color story, this recipe made like Cupid, drawing back its bow and shooting straight to this cake lover's heart.  With cake in our hearts and hearts in our eyes, the Enchanted Castle became our Valentine's Day Kitsch-en Kounter project for 2015.  I, of course, terribly bored with the tedium of printed instructions, immediately went rogue.  Even at my advanced age, an entire castle seemed rather daunting; we would take our cake in the direction of something more romantic, more intimate, and more cost-conscious.  Something that, if you saw a faded sign by the side of the road, you'd be more than willing to drive fifteen miles to share in its sweet delight. 

A LOVE SHACK!!!
Humble of both address and architecture (cake-itecture?),
the Love Shack is just a little old place where we can get together.

Starting with a tried-and-true, basic cake recipe, I figured it would be easy to adapt
 into a heart-shaped cake that was also colored in an appropriately-thematic fashion.

I had never before made a red velvet cake and, as it happens, I still haven't.
By the third heaping tablespoon of red gel food coloring, I just couldn't
stomach anymore.  "Maybe it will magically turn red in the oven..."  It didn't.
Incidentally, I just watched someone make a red-velvet cake on TV today
and they used two whole bottles of liquid food coloring!!!  No thanks.

Taking style cues from the Enchanted Castle Cake, I added iced ice-cream-cone spires; swirled in pink confection, they were topped with heart-spangled banners waving from heart-shaped picks.  A polka-dot red carpet welcomes lovers under an awning supported by paper straws.  The edifice is paneled in candy-stripe sticks and studded in pink, candy buttons.  Surrounded by coconut grass and a blue velvet sky, the sweetly-scaled Love Shack is to the Enchanted Castle Cake as Marie Antoinette's little Hamlet is to the Palace of Versailles.  The Love Shack became the perfect finishing touch to our humble Valentine's Day tablescape.

As a child, my favorite part of the book was the possibility, the dream that artfully playing with my food could one day become a legitimate avocation.  As an adult, with easy access to a car/grocery store/kitchen, my favorite parts of Betty Crocker's New Boys and Girls Cook Book are the juvenile "home-testers'" reactions to helping with the book and testing the recipes (see Joan above) accompanied by the lovely, sometimes-flattering charcoal portraits.

"Being a home-tester was the most exciting thing I've ever done." - Randee (What a pity to peak so young)
"I learned how to use a sharp knife - without cutting myself." - Sandra (A recurring theme at Sandra's therapy sessions)
"We learned what words like baste and fold and beat meant." - Peter (Definitely the words of a serial killer)
Betty Crocker is like a real friend to me now." - Carol (You said it, Carol.  Imaginary friends are the best friends)

So, what are your obsessions?  Are you obsessed with making a Love Shack of your own?  Don't let Mr. Shakespeare fool you into thinking that "music be the food of love."  It's cake.  Yes, definitely cake.  So, if you're heading down the Atlanta highway and see our heart-shaped shack, just "Bang, bang, bang on the door, baby."  We'll let you in and save you a piece!

"Love Shack" - The B-52's

Happy Valentine's Day, you wacky tacky turkey necks!!!

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Collecting: The Best Vintage Valentine Ever!

Sometimes I question how deeply rooted my understanding of the human condition is in the scripted television programs of the late 20th Century.  I was fortunate never to have experienced the grade-school humiliation associated with an empty mailbox come time for the yearly valentine exchange.  Frankly, it never even seemed like an option; twenty-eight kids in the class meant twenty-eight cards given and twenty-eight cards received (granted, I was in the first wave of Project Self-Esteem, better known as Project EVERYONE is a winner).  Nevertheless, many television shows presented the now-hackneyed construct of the well-intentioned but hopelessly-geeky kid, forlorn at the absence of valentine cards in his construction-paper inbox (see: Raph Wiggum, et al.).

Hopelessly geeky myself, I always found it hard to reconcile the bevy of Valentine's goodies I received first through fifth grade - even harder still as an adult when exchanging valentines is anything but compulsory.  Imagine my surprise when I opened my actual mailbox and found the best vintage valentine ever!  Sent from my pal, and major wacky tacky booster, Charlotte (via a mutual friend's yard sale), I found Günthers Karneval Fasching, a mid-Century, German booklet of fancy-dress fashions.

Günthers Karneval Fasching
After looking at this cover one too many times, all I can see is a sexy Jane Pauley!

While technically not a valentine (Karneval/Fasching is essentially Deutschland's answer to Mardi Gras), and sent with intentions entirely platonic, I can't help but view the timing and the cover girl's heart-bedecked top hat as a happy holiday greeting.  At only fourteen pages, this booklet is filled with the most colorful cornucopia of carnival costumes I have ever seen.  Get ready to have your socks knocked off!

I love the arrow and handwriting on this one; "dieses oberteil" means "this top/bodice."
I suppose we'll always be left to wonder what the bottom half looked like - if there was
a bottom half.  Flashing at Fasching; it is Karneval!

Aren't these incredible?!?!!  Often self-critical, I've been known to deride my own designs as being far too "costume-y."  I guess I'm not so off base considering that, with a few minor tweaks/edits, I would find it exciting if people wore the designs featured in Günthers Karneval Fasching as everyday clothing.  Even more exciting is that the pamphlet included the complete pattern to each and every costume.  And, if my high school German still serves, I understand that "each style comes in two sizes" very clearly printed and labeled on a two-sided pattern sheet...

Oh boy...
I've heard of vintage patterns printed in such a fashion but I've never been
confronted by such a mess!  Instead of going permanently cross-eyed, I might
just have to settle for drooling over the technicolor images. 

Thank you, thank you, Charlotte, for "Choo-Choo-Choosing" me as the recipient of your thoughtful gift (and for mailing it to me).  Any mail that isn't a bill, a ticket, or a jury summons is good mail.  Any mail that I can consider a valentine when my construction paper mailbox went dry more than twenty years ago is great mail.  Any mail that is a 1950s, German, Mardi Gras-fashion booklet is the best vintage Valentine ever!  Ich liebe meinen antiker Valentinsgruß!!!

"Sei Mein Valentin"

Happy Valentine's Day, you wacky tacky turkey necks!


Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Crazy Crafty: The Love Boat

For a variety of reasons, I have been spending a great deal of time around the house as of late.  Let me tell you that it doesn't take long before a level dose of laundry, shopping, mopping, cooking, cleaning, diapers, and doctor appointments makes anyone appreciate the plight of a stay-at-home mom.  With so few opportunities to get out and about, one begins to forget about social interaction.  One forgets the way grown-ups behave.  One forms imaginary, yet very intense, friendships with daytime-television personalities.  One puts much more thought and energy into holiday crafts and decorating than ever before (it is really no wonder that Pinterest has blown up with a wealth of unattainable, perfectly-photographed crafts and foodstuffs).  No need to worry about that here!

I can never seem to capture and/or create anything Pinterest worthy.
It is only craft books that are intended for a more juvenile skill set, like
Easy-to-Makes(1966), that find this staunch anti-crafter wrapped in a
web of hot glue-gun strings. 

Lest you think that Mr. Tiny is turning mommy blogger, please be reminded that I, neither a mommy nor a woman (just for the record), limit my crafting to things that make me laugh, things that are wacky tacky, things that don't take much time, and things that don't cost an arm and a leg!  For Valentine's Day, I turned to page 28 of Easy-to-Makes for some holiday inspiration. 

I kind of loved the paper-plate "Cupid Carryall" but as I haven't needed
a themed mailbox for the big, classroom Valentine exchange in many years, I
figured that it made a lot more sense to go with the "Shipshape Party Favor." 

"Shipshape Party Favor" makes for a particularly ho-hum
kind of a name for this craft.  I mean, it's a cupcake-liner
with a heart sail, lollipop mast, and candy crew!
This  LOVE BOAT is ready to set sail!!!

Along with being an anti-crafter, I have always been a bit of an anti-cupcake advocate so the Love Boats (a craft employing cupcake liners) were a challenge to my sensibilities.  In the hierarchy of sweet treats, COOKIE IS KING - then cake (of the full-size variety), then trifle, then brownies, then pie, and then cupcakes!  On top of the fact that I always want the middle piece of cake (a cupcake is all edge piece), there is gene that I carry that makes me immediately revolt against an "it" item.  Seriously, haven't cupcakes had their fifteen minutes of fame already (sorry cupcake fans)?!?!?!!  Don't even get me started on the cro-nut! 

The Love Boats meet the wacky tacky, Crazy Crafty prerequisites of being
budget friendly (I had everything on-hand except for the discount Dum-Dums
and Valentine's M&M's) and easy-to-make (Thanks, Easy-to-Makes!).

The Love Boat!
Fancy with its iridescent, pipe-cleaner rigging, but not too fine, the Love Boats
would make a great jumping-off point for a nautical Valentine's table. 

We hope that as you sail into the sunset with your sweetheart this Valentine's Day, you'll feel like a first-class passenger on "The Love Boat."  Here's to a Happy and Nautical (naughty-cal?) Valentine's Day!  Cuchi-Cuchi!!!

"The Love Boat" as sung by Charo on The Love Boat

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny

Valentine's Schmalentine's

Okay, so I guess nobody is a big meatloaf fan - duly noted.  We won't dwell on it; we'll just press on to more pressing matters, namely St. Valentine's Day.  

"Valentine Stomp" - Fats Waller (1929)

Why does the thought very thought of February 14 get people in such a panic?  Why must we get all uptight about it, harping on the commercial aspect of the day and the enforced exclamations of ardor.  Frankly, I think cupid has to work overtime because you hear more folks expressing the sentiment "Valentine's Schmalentine's" than "I'm Getting Sentimental Over You."  If Herb and the gang can't get you in a sentimental mood, I'm afraid that you might be a lost cause. 

"I'm Getting Sentimental Over You" - Herb Alpert & The Tijuana Brass

Honestly, I think it is kind of nice to pick at least one day a year to tell the people that you love, that you love them.  There is something silly and sweet about the exchange of throw-away candy, red flowers, and overwrought, romantic greeting cards; it hearkens back to a simpler time when a love letter meant far more than a "chocolate diamond."  What the heck is a chocolate diamond anyway?  Valentine's Day should not be an exercise in overspending, reservations, and pressure.  Too much pressure and elevated expectations of perfection are never a good thing.  For Heaven's sake, it's on a school night this year.  Take it easy!  I think the trick is to keep it simple and romantic with something like a "Champantie."

(Source)
I'll never forget the time I was walking through Big-Lots and
saw this  penultimate expression of modern romance.
Nothing says "I love you" like lace panties in a plastic champagne bottle.

  A "Champantie" and just being someone's funny Valentine should be more than enough.

"My Funny Valentine" - Ella Fitzgerald

The internet is just lousy with pictures of vintage Valentine's greetings but they are too cool not share a few.  Truthfully, I would be happy with just one of these funny Valentine's.

Don't you miss the days when everyone was your Valentine; the days when you made a paper mailbox and by the end of class, it was loaded with miniature cards and candy hearts?  Well, for those of you unlovable, unclaimed, unwanted, and broken-hearted types with not even a prospect of a Valentine in your life this year, just know that I am one of you. Furthermore, I want you to always remember that "I Choo-Choo, Choose You."

Happy Valentine's Day!

Cheers!

Mr. Tiny